


Pleasant Distractions

by ShadowSpires



Series: Pleasant Distractions [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Slavery, F/M, M/M, Master/Slave, Sexual Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-25
Updated: 2012-08-25
Packaged: 2017-11-12 20:44:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/495457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadowSpires/pseuds/ShadowSpires
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. Prince Damian employs his personal slave in creating a small … distraction, in the midst of an important council meeting.</p><p> </p><p>  <i>He used his free left hand to tip *his* personal slave’s chin up from where it hung down past his knee. The new stretch perfectly displayed the glittering gold and emerald collar gracing his neck, and emphasized the perfection of his body where it was draped across Damian’s lap.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Pleasant Distractions

**Author's Note:**

> This is an *AU*. Damian was raised as a Prince in this, and is over 16. Dick is *mumblyage* but older than Damian. Everyone else is presumably over the age of consent as well. This universe is inspired by a mix of Pervyficgirl’s [Masters and Slaves AU](http://zarabithia.livejournal.com/171690.html), which I just adore, and Captain Australia’s [Gamble Verse](http://captainnaustralia.tumblr.com/tagged/gamble%21verse), which I go back and read at least once a month, I love it so much. This particular fic is visually inspired by ne of [hamletmachine’s pics](http://starfightercomic.com/hm_extras_page_01.php?page=HM_Extras_01_81.jpg). Yum yum yum.
> 
> Warning: There is a brief mention of non-con but it really is ‘blink and you miss it’. Fair warning, though. Also, slavery and the implied consent issues involved in that. Though most everyone in this particular fic are very happy about where they are.

Damian surveyed the nobles around the council table from his own throne just below and to his father’s right.  
  
His eyes gleamed with amusement as he took in the obvious distraction of many of the council’s more… Depraved nobles.  
  
Father’s personal slave, Clark, lounged gloriously nude at his side. Sleek and golden like a lion.  
  
A sudden shifting and barely muffled whimper in his lap caused the smirk to deepen in his eyes. As impressive as Clark was, *he* was not what had the council’s attention riveted on the dais, rather then on the business they were supposed to be discussing.  
  
He used his free left hand to tip *his* personal slave’s chin up from where it hung down past his knee. The new stretch perfectly displayed the glittering gold and emerald collar gracing his neck, and emphasized the perfection of his body where it was draped across Damian’s lap.  
  
The prince’s right hand continued its idle playing with his slave’s backside; stroking delicate fingers over firm cheeks, running a finger nail over the tender, glistening hole, tracing down further to fondle balls encased in delicate silver chains that dripped from the thicker ring around the base of the slave’s engorged cock.  
  
Damian blessed the growth spurt that had hit at 16, and made him finally bigger than his personal slave; big enough to do this, to drape the other over himself, without looking ridiculous. He was almost as tall as his father now, and only a little less broad.  
  
  
Every movement caused the slave to squirm in his lap, glorious muscles rippling under flawless skin. Damian spoke up to address the concerns of one of the nobles as he abruptly sank two fingers deep into his slave’s oiled hole. The slick stretch was accompanied by a high whine that cut through Damian’s words.  
  
Without a break in his speech, the hand on his slave’s chin shifted to press against his throat, and the one in his ass yanked out to apply a firm swat to his bared ass in reprimand for the sound. A barely muffled groan met that, as his slave pushed back into his hand, eager for another strike.  
  
Lust-stupid eyes watched him from the council, and he could feel his father’s amusement boring into him.  
  
Damian’s audience barely paid attention to his words, as he mentioned that the current proposal should elevate stock yield by one third. No one seemed to register the comment. That was something that would normally enrage him. No this time. That was, after all, the point of this little show.  
  
Gentle caresses hidden by a seemingly strong grip tickled along the slave’s throat, indicating his own pleasure in the other’s performance.  
  
Deep blue eyes glittered up at him from behind dark, sweat soaked bangs, positively gleaming with their own shade of lust-blown amusement and adoration.  
  
Lashes fluttered shut over that too-tempting expression when he pushed his fingers back into the slave and twisted them up against his sensitive spot at the same time he shifted his other hand to drag nails down that perfect back. White lines that would quickly become red welts dragged from his right shoulder blade down to the small of his back, where his bound hands created a barrier.  
  
The moan that earned Damian fluttered against his fingertips, as the slave’s expressive face twisted in agonized pleasure.  
  
It was also echoed from somewhere in his audience, proving that their attention was exactly where he wanted it; on him and not on the discussion before them. The few in the council who’s attention was still on the controversial discussion over military appropriation could be trusted to vote the way Damian and his father wished them to.  
  
Though, the head of the house of Queen had been watching Damian’s slave with glazed eyed until his own sharp tongued slave dug sharp fingernails into his leg. There was a rather large betting pool going about when Oliver would free her in order to marry her. Dinah already ran his household and presided solely over his bed chamber. The fact that she knelt at his feet rather than sitting at his side seemed the only barrier to her status as wife.  
  
Damian withdrew his fingers from his slave, earning a high desperate whine at the emptiness left behind. He swiftly wiped his fingers on a cloth at his side, before reaching to the table at his side.  His slave squirmed, not able to see where his hand had gone, but knowing something was coming. Eyes followed his hand as it drifted over paddles and chains, whips and clips. Lord Dent had his hand fisted in the hair at the back of his slave’s head. The Prince could see the desire in him to shove her face into his groin, himself down her throat. Damian blessed the laws of the council chamber that both allowed his own display, and disallowed anyone not of the royal family from making use of their pleasure slaves in the council chamber. It was, ironically enough, a law originally passed by the council in an effort to provide a distraction for the royals, so they would not pa attention to the meeting. Whatever the original intention, Damian was glad. He certainly didn’t want to see Dent even a little naked, and the sight of him forcing his terrified looking slave would upset his own slave’s soft heart, and completely ruin both the effect Damian was going for, and the eventuality of his own pleasant evening. Damian made a mental note to see what could be done about depleting Dent’s resources enough that a pleasure slave was an unacceptable expense. At least the professionals in the high class houses Dent was likely to visit had the option of refusing.  
  
Damian’s hand eventually settled over a silvery butt plug, etched and textured lightly with swirled patterns and bumps. A hiss rose both from the audience, and hot against his leg when he pressed the cool metal against his slave’s twitching, desperate hole. Pressing in the slightest amount, and then withdrawing, as the discussion jerked haltingly among those who could pay attention. When the crucial moment arrived, and his slave was reduced to mewling high and begging against the fingers that had gone back to pressing into the pulse points on his neck (more to feel the noises his slave made against his fingers, than to try to stifle them) only then did he sink the implement in firmly to its base in one smooth motion. Hips bounced against his leg and a keen cut across the room. His slave shuddered, muscles tensing in thwarted climax; abs bunching against his knees as he shook, prevented from coming by the ring around his cock. Damian intermittently nudged a thumb against the base of the plug, prolonging the shocky shudders as the quickly warming metal pressed up against his slave’s prostate, alternating the sharp bursts of sensation with soothing strokes down that perfect golden back. He had his audience exactly where he wanted them; enthralled by the spectacle before them.  
  
Barry, of the House of Allen was in quiet discussion with Hal of the Lantern Guard. Barry had a slight flush to his cheeks, but both men also had an amused gleam in his eyes, knowing well what Damian was up to. Lady Selina was watching with hot eyes and licking her lips, the peaks of her nipples visible through the flimsy cloth of her dress.  
  
Damian arched a haughty eyebrow at them as he offered the fingers of his left hand to his slave, suppressing a shudder of his own when the digits were eagerly sucked into a warm mouth. Tongue laving, head bobbing, as wicked blue eyes promised to do the same later to Damian’s throbbing erection that he could feel pressing up through the thin material of his pants against bare abs. Once Damian got them out of this room, and back to their private chambers. The Prince pressed admonishingly at the plug once, pleased when eyes fluttered shut and the attention paid to his fingers went from teasing to determined and completely blissed. The golden creature in his lap knew there were still things that needed to be accomplished before they could retreat to fulfil all the promises made on both sides tonight.  
  
Timothy, scion of the house of Drake, was attending in place of his parents, away on one of their many trips. He was focusing intently at the documents before him, seemingly ignoring the wonton spectacle happening on the dais. His personal slave/bodyguard on the other hand was watching openly with a hungry leer from where he kneeled at Timothy’s side. Their position at the table let Damian see the white knuckled grip Timothy had on his thigh, and the proprietary hand the muscular brunet had caressing the sliver of exposed skin at the lord’s ankle. The strange white fringe of the bodyguard’s hair swept rakishly across his forehead when he leaned up to whisper something in the smaller man’s ear. Something that made him flush and anchor a hand convulsively in the short dark hair at the back of his slave’s head. Tim was firmly on their side on this issue, though it was against his parent’s wishes. He’d actually been the one to suggest this particular ruse, much to the private council’s astonishment at the normally shy young man. It was obvious that suggesting it, and seeing it were two different things, however. Though it looked like Tim would reap the benefit of this display later, if his bodyguard’s look was any indication.  
  
Some of the other nobles, on the other hand, were completely distracted. Lord Dent, for instance, had just missed his chance to protest a measure that would limit his authority over the military, and Lord Cobblepot one that would cut his revenue from overpriced grains.  
  
Damian might generally disdain manipulation as a waste of time, but he thought, as his slave’s wanton writhing rubbed against his own hardened flesh, he could gleefully employ this particular stunt many times, to great reward.  
  
Now it was just a matter of surviving through the rest of this meeting until he could drag his slave - his lover, his teacher, his support and confidant - off to love properly. This teasing was wonderful, but he could not wait to sink inside the body of his lover, claim him once again as his, after presenting him to all of these eyes. A situation only made bearable by the knowledge that no one else would ever get to touch. Never again.  
  
As the discussion wound to a close, and the time approached that he could haul his slave off the a private antechamber - he doubted they would make it all the way back to his private chambers - Damian leaned down to whisper in his slave’s ear.  
  
“Mine, Richard. Never forget. No one will ever touch you again but me.”  
  
The shudder and arch he got in return, that perfectly displayed both the rising marks on his back, and the collar in his colours, was as eloquent of a ‘yours!’ as Damian could have asked for.

 


End file.
